


The Killing Moon

by MistressAkira



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drama & Romance, FE3H Kinkmeme, Forbidden Love, Gothic, Intrigue, M/M, Minor Violence, Politics, Secret Identity, Unreliable Narrator, smut in chapter 2, tags to be updated then kekekek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25434460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressAkira/pseuds/MistressAkira
Summary: All around him, the masses of masked Faerghan nobility continued in their revelry, ignorant of anything beyond their alcohol and their own pleasure.It was Imperial Year 1181, 24th of the Great Tree Moon, and tomorrow Faerghus intended to coronate the crown prince, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, as King.Felix Hugo Fraldarius had been sent to kill him first.----For the fe3h kinkmeme prompt: “Felix-Dimitri, Masquerade Ball; Felix is the empire’s brightest and most effective assassin, and he has come to take out the young Prince of Faerghus at the celebratory ball on the eve of his coronation- he ends up helplessly smitten and in the prince’s bed instead.”
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 25
Kudos: 90
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	The Killing Moon

**Author's Note:**

> No one:
> 
> No one at all:
> 
> Absolutely fucking no one, least of all my poor anon:
> 
> ME: hey how about i make a whole ass fully fleshed out au out of a smut request
> 
> I was smitten by this prompt~ I’m such a sucker for ball masque shit, I’ve always wanted to try my hand writing in a properly gothic style (hopefully a success??), and this just seemed like the prompt to do so~ thanks for the good idea, anon, hope you’re pleased with the results!

Felix knew he was the best at what he did. He would never claim to be untouchable- or undefeatable for that matter- but though prideful in no small degree, nonetheless he was staunch, steadfast, competent and capable to cut through whatever hindered his path- be it bad luck, unforeseen circumstance, or simply the rigors of pre-meditated murder.

But by the saints and emperors, Fhirdiad was _cold_.

Certainly colder than Garreg Mach, or anywhere else Felix had been in his entire life. The sun hadn’t shone itself once the entire near two week’s ride here, as if Magdred Way had swallowed it whole between jagged alpine teeth, the pass itself a wicked edacious throat leading into the consumptive darkness that oppressed northern Fodlan. It had even _snowed_ during the final leg of the journey, all the way through Gideon and Tailtean, thin wisps that floated weightlessly and yet soaked and burdened everything they came in contact with. He had arrived early this morning with wind ravaged hair and half frozen luggage, and caught several of the servants snickering at his dishevelment as he stumbled stiff-legged and hasty to the fire in the entry hall.

A foolish, foppy southerner they likely thought him. It was hardly Felix’s fault Faerghus had been forsaken by every deity known to man and froze over at the slightest inclination.

 _And it’s already the Great Tree Moon,_ he thought irritably to himself at present, sipping his champagne. All around him, the masses of masked Faerghan nobility continued in their revelry, ignorant of anything beyond their alcohol and their own pleasure.

It was Imperial Year 1181, 24th of the Great Tree Moon, and tomorrow Faerghus intended to coronate the crown prince, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, as King.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius had been sent to kill him first.

And so here he was, spectating from a corner of the algific Castle Blaiddyd’s equally frigid ballroom, hunting amidst the noble wilderness in search of his quarry. The eve was yet young, but already the party was in full swing, an aurora sea that ebbed and flowed as cloaks, capes, and gowns whirled by, their ornamentation sparkling like the crests of waves, ice atop a frozen ocean.

Castle Blaiddyd was a grim acropolis, all harsh angles and sheer drops, haunted by fog and fortified in ice, towering over the streets of Fhirdiad in all its dark, weathered glory. Its cavernous innards were no less severe, high-ceilinged and echoing, unsettling in the way every action resonated clear through the air, as if each moment could be felt twice; the ballroom was no exception, strings and piano rewriting speech over symphony, a teeming operatic hall of many cacophonous voices and things. The ballroom itself was not unlike Garreg Mach’s own, utilitarian in the base structure of dark stone and smooth marble floors, but where southern blue and cherry woods warmed those halls, these glistened coldly in all their incandescent glory, the luminosity of the fine veins of crystal twisting through the structural rock only matched by those that hung in teardrops and starbursts along beaded string, dripping from candlesticks, balconies, and chandeliers. Chandeliers of which there were many, filling the hall with the cool glow of starlight and the scent of melting elderberry wax. The light clung in glass and gold, refracting in splatters and shapes, expelling its frigid decadence to take new forms among the revelers in their gleaming glory, shadow banished to the furthest corners and confined in that which lurked under them all.

But for all the gold, for all the light, the opulence cuts like ice, and the room remained crisp, every filled space frozen once more when it was left, a grim acceptance by the very stones themselves unable to provide for those within them. Color does not exist here in the way Felix knew it, brought by candlelight and cloudcast rather than by ocean and sun, dull and pale and wasted as this desolate land.

And to think, his ancestors had once deigned to dwell here.

Felix reached up with his free hand, brushing over the feathers of his own mask to readjust the ties that bound it to him. He was not here as a Fraldarius tonight, a name long synonymous with traitor; he was here as a blade, faceless, purposeful.

Besides, pretentious as it all was, this ball was but a masquerade, in more ways than one. While it was traditional to hold a celebration before the crowning of a monarch, a masked ball was hardly the conventional choice. But then again, Dimitri was far from a conventional king.

The sole survivor of the Tragedy of Duscur five years prior, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd was orphaned at thirteen, denied the right to ascend the throne early due to it being _untraditional_ , his uncle ruling as regent in the years between instead. Now eighteen as of Ethereal Moon, his uncle no longer had sovereign guardianship over him, and Dimitri could have been crowned at any point since. However, the coronation had been pushed back repeatedly for reasons unknown to both Felix and the Vestra spies, until here they were now, already deep into the new moon and the new year. What was even more curious about the coronation’s delay was that the crown prince had declined to attend the Officer’s Academy at Garreg Mach- untraditional in the sense that every king before him, including his father Lambert, had prior to taking the throne- in order to prepare for it.

And yet, for a year of anticipation and planning, where had that gotten them? Felix three moons behind in his own plans, most certainly. But the prince was the one who orchestrated all this, succeeded one way or another in outwitting the empire’s finest spies and yet also forced their hand in the way that led to Felix’s necessity here- and Felix had some appreciation for that. Dimitri denied convention, and even if it made all of their jobs harder, it also made a more worthy challenge of it too.

All this adherence to tradition- basal devotion, really- it would have been amusing if it wasn’t so sickening. Dimitri could have already been king, and could have for sometime now, if he’d been allowed to ascend even as early as fifteen or sixteen, and then perhaps Felix wouldn’t even be here; wouldn’t have even been able to get close, a stranger in the court of a seasoned ruler. But instead, they stuck to _tradition,_ and let a careless monarch womanize and squander their country away, and so Felix _was_ here, to end an era before it could even begin.

But this all turned out to be beneficial, at least for Edelgard. The postponement allowed for Felix to graduate and return home rather than being yanked out of the Academy mere months before the end. An Adrestian noble from a house famed for its soldiers and assassins being snatched back from public view, only for a king to drop dead a short while later- it was brash and tactless in every sense.

 _Though,_ Felix mused, fingering the stem of his glass, watching the ways the light danced and clung. If Dimitri had attended, Felix supposed he would have been there this past year, same as him.

Felix himself had been resistant about his own enrollment at the Academy. A year ago, the Great Tree Moon at the turn of a decade amidst the blooming of the spring social season, had been a busy time for any courtier, assassins seldom excluded. Though Ionius had been stripped of most of his power, his daughter hardly had a short list of those who needed to be plied or disposed of, and it was Edelgard herself who ultimately decided that Felix would accompany her to Garreg Mach for her academic tenure.

When she brought Hubert along as well, Felix knew there were greater things at work. But with his position- dangerous as it were- he was rarely fed more than the barest scraps required to complete the task, apple peels and olive pits of information useful only in sustaining the end goal but never enough to grow into anything elucidating. And so though he’d assumed he’d have some purpose there, awaiting the inevitable orders to sever some fool bastard’s throat, ultimately there were none. His year at the Officer’s Academy passed largely without incident- at least, no incident related to Felix. It proved to be a worthwhile expenditure at the very least, with ample opportunity to hone both his craft and his mind serving the church, though the latter was hardly by choice.

He had graduated just before the turn of the year, eighteen now himself as of Pegasus Moon. And to think- his first assignment post-graduation would be assassinating the crown prince of Faerghus. Certainly something Edelgard had been planning for long before Garreg Mach, and more than likely the reason behind her insistence Felix join her there, he’d realized upon receiving his orders.

Perhaps if the crown prince had deigned to attend, Felix would have been instructed to kill him there. Perhaps that had been the plan all along, before the paperwork was rescinded and some margrave’s son from the hellscape of northern Faerghus named Gautier was installed as house leader instead.

Regardless, killing a king would certainly prove to be a worthwhile test of his newfound skills. The killing _of_ a _king_ , however, while theoretically within his repertoire, was not something Felix had ever actually attempted before. Much less, a king like Dimitri.

Minor crested as he was, Blaiddyd’s berserker strength ran hale in this one, but in addition to the utter lack of insight on the prince’s delaying of his own crowning, the investigative reports on the prince himself were diverse to the point of downright conflictory. Some described him as kind, genteel, and noble, while others spoke of fits of madness and bitter tendencies, accounts detailing his habitual wandering the halls at all hours of the night, quiet as death save for the possessed murmurings with shadows. Prince Dimitri was kind to children but had supposedly ripped a man’s head from his shoulders with bare hands, had a mare named Duchess he doted upon, kept a rigorous training schedule, and sometimes spoke to things that were not there.

It was all frustratingly obtuse. But man, monster, whatever his true face, Felix supposed he would soon discern.

_... If the goddessdamned man ever decided to show up to his own party._

A quarter past eight chimes, and Felix still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the king-to-be in the near two hours since the masquerade had begun. And not for any lack of trying, he’d run circles around this blasted room before the fruitlessness of such had him frustratedly withdrawing to this corner beneath the mezzanine to reassess, making quick work of the champagne he had grabbed largely for show but now was certain he would regret later.

Though he had never seen a picture true of the man, he knew what he was looking for: broad build, strong features, golden hair and glacial eyes, the picturesque Blaiddyd standard. The masks were of little consequence, most only covering their wearer’s eyes and nose, and though this country seemed to be furnished quite amply in behemoth blondes, none of them had the bearing, retinue (a Duscur man was difficult to miss), or fine dress of the prince.

Felix swirled his champagne, casting eyes about once more, impatience simmering low in his chest. His own finery had been spared the miseries of his travel, but though heavier garments had been commissioned specifically for this event, he still felt bitterly cold and noticeably underdressed compared to these northerners piled in their wool and furs.

 _Undeniably southern too_ , he grimaced, lamenting once again his tailor’s lace persuasion.

He’d at the very least forgone Hresvelg crimson in favor of a teal more likely to blend in with cool tones Faerghans favored, surcoat and cape the bright color with dark basalt blues for his trousers and inner layers, gloves and tall boots lined with fur and cut from sensible coal leather. A perfectly serviceable outfit to kill a man in, before the clothier had his way with it. Now black lace detailed in chrysanthemums and oleander spilled from his throat like a grievous, gaudy neck wound, and clung like spiderwebs in the slits of his sleeves, thick black ribbon corseting the front of his coat up in a vice for no better reason than a madman’s needle-whimsy.

Hardly an outfit for a fight, though if all went to plan, there would be no need for one. A shame, for all the prince has been built up to be a capable fighter.

For the garments’ ostentatiousness, there was practicality in the draping and layers. Where some might favor more passive means such as poison- or if one was Glenn, a mixture of venin both liquid and charismatic- Felix was ever a creature of efficiency, and there were few things more efficient in murder than a sharp blade. Six blades to be exact resided within the folds of this florid attire in addition to his more apparent arming of the fine sword strapped across his hip. Though Glenn had not objected to the sword, he’d thought five knives excessive. Felix had elected to tuck one more into his boot for posterity.

Though, if only Glenn could have seen _these_ people. Faerghus was a land of scarcity in every sense of the word, except for when it came to steel, and Felix very quickly realized Faerghans demonstrated that specific wealth in exorbitant measures; axes, lances, swords, a staggering amount of daggers, even the occasional bow, weapons affixed to belts and over shoulders, as integral to their finery as gloves it would seem. There was hardly a man, woman, or even child that lacked armament here, often in the form of multiples per person. Earlier in the eve, a woman had walked by Felix brandishing a short axe in her belt and a baldric tucked with _eleven_ knives of varying size and shape in addition to the sword- and he had been unable to keep from staring as she walked by! A single sword and six knives, and Felix found himself underdressed in this aspect as well!

His entire week and a half in this country had done little to sway his opinions on their fanaticism, but this tradition was one he found himself fiercely appreciative of. Even with the sheer quantity of metal that filled this hall, the quality of the weapons were discernible from a distance, and frustrated as his hunting had left him, there was no shortage of them to admire. Adrestians loved their subterfuge and shadow politics, and though within the darkness Felix often did his own work, it grew dull being the only one in the room armed with any approximation of their truth strength.

It was thrilling, to look around here and size anyone up.

Perhaps he could get his fight after all.

A dull sequence of chimes came from a distance, taking Felix out of his contemplation. Half past eight, and he’d wasted another quarter in this corner.

Ineffective or not, he was no closer to identifying his quarry than he’d been two hours ago, and making the rounds remained the most effective course of action for now. Loathe was the thought, but it was likely time to start _conversing_ as well. He’d only raise suspicions brooding in corners guzzling champagne. Wearing this much lace, doubly so.

If Felix had his way, he’d be gone by midnight. Another week and a half’s journey awaited him back to Enbarr, and he severely doubted it would be any more pleasant than the first, considering he’d be making a good bit of it through several miserable inches of snow. Even now, his fatigue from the fierce pace of the journey ate at him, but there was a great deal to be done before he could properly rest. After arriving that morning, he had napped all day in preparation for the night; it would have to be enough. The less time he spent among the court, the better.

 _Though with any luck_ , Felix mused as he tucked away a few errant strands of dark hair from his bun, setting himself to rights in preparation to depart, _there won’t be any Lions Corps on my heels through it._ A challenge that certainly would be, but one he was decidedly less inclined to seek out-

“Pardon me,”

The voice floated down from his left, jarring Felix once more from his thoughts.

“But I couldn’t help but notice you over here by yourself,”

It was male, _deep_ \- pleasantly so, Felix realized hearing it speak further, firm and yet soft though it carried clearly over the din of the party. _The conversation was coming to him, it would seem._

Bringing the flute to his lips in an effort to appear casual, Felix turned slowly to meet it.

And immediately must force his gaze upward.

The man was tall, a fair bit taller than Felix, made taller by the overwhelming ornation of his costume. Draped in heavy pelts black and white, his rapturous cloak was the deep blue of midnight and lined in rippling layers of brown and cream furs, broadening an already gratuitous set of shoulders, his formals black and simple with delicate gold lining. And then the _mask_ \- huge it was, nestled in the furs it concealed his entire head and face, save for the deep eye sockets where dull gray pupils stared through.

An animal skull. Long and high-cheeked, feline in shape but corrupted by its sculptor; thick, bone-gray horns sprouted from the temples, curved in a half moon halo, and the mandible was reversed, canines jutting obscenely from the lower jaw more akin to tusks than fangs. It cut a monstrous figure, a horror that lurked in twilit fairytale woods and devoured maidens pure, at once mighty and utterly grotesque.

When the sojourn up its beastliness culminated in Felix finally meeting the bleak winter chill of those eyes, the creature only cocked his head, peering down at him with puppish inquisition as that supple disembodied voice crooned from behind the many fangs. “Are the festivities not to your enjoyment?”

_And absurd. Absurd in no small measure._

Felix withdrew the glass from his lips and gave the odd man a leveling look. “I was alone, until a moment ago.” _How on the goddess’s green earth had such a lumbering thing snuck up on him?_

The skull righted itself, rising to full height though he quickly diminished the effect by inclining his head in a small bow. “Forgive me. I didn't mean to disturb you,” Though his words were apologetic, sincere to an almost baffling degree, there was an undercurrent of humor in his tone, no less earnest but it gave Felix the distinct impression the beast knew exactly what he was doing and still intended to.

The man’s eyes flicked up to catch Felix’s once more, “I was merely curious as to why one such as yourself would be sequestered away in a corner, keeping only champagne for company.”

"One such as I?" Felix repeated, unimpressed and unamused, and gave the man a contemptuous half shrug as he turned away, breaking free from that frigid eye contact though a small smirk inexplicably found its way to his lips. “It’s hardly your business, but perhaps you should have considered this is how I best enjoy the festivities. By not being part of them.”

A gloved hand slipped from the cape to smooth down the pelts at his front, and the skull bobbed inelegantly, the man seemingly nodding. “I must confess, I myself am not a fan of such events. It’s all quite too extravagant for me.” The great horror swiveled, looking around for a moment, and ran his hand over his front once more, furs almost seeming to bristle. “And… loud.”

With the movement, the sweeping light caught metal, in turn catching Felix’s eye- and quickly revealed itself to be a gauntlet. Cold, dark steel, covering his fingers, hands, all the way up to his elbows. The beast was wearing gauntlets over his gloves.

 _At a gala?_ Felix snorted, gesturing with a sweep of his free hand to all of the monstrous creature before him. “You claim to hate extravagance, and yet you appear dressed like that.”

The man sighed deeply and shook his head, the protective hand withdrawing back beneath his cloak. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? Unfortunately, it was not my decision to wear.”

With the man’s bowed head, Felix found himself at eye level with the tusks. He looked the man up and down once more, taking noted, meticulous stock of the many _ridiculous_ things here, yet his eye kept straying back to them.

And he found himself completely bereft of any pity. “Poor boar.” Felix sneered with a curled lip, giving the man a good show of teeth.

The man’s head snapped up in an instant, eyes wide and visibly taken aback. And then that beastly maw was cocked at him once more, a coy, dazzling flash in those deathly gray eyes. “If I may be so bold myself, your own mask is rather remarkable as well.” He peered closer, near enough only to touch Felix’s shoulder if he should be so bold. “Silver scales and bright green feathers. Is it not the feathered serpent of Brigid myth? Their air spirit, if I recall correctly.”

The man hovered there, within reach but just out of grasp, eyes never moving from Felix’s. Felix blinked at him, resisting the urge to run his fingers through the feathers that edged his mask; he had forgotten for a moment he was wearing it at all.

“Hmph. Correct.” Felix said eventually, tucking his willful hand away in the fold of his crossed arm, cocking an eyebrow at the man. “A well-learned boar, then.”

The man chuckled, and though Felix could not see his expression, the beast’s pleasure was evident in its decadence. “It suits you.” He murmured, eyes half-lidded below a pale sweep of eyelashes, that saccharine sincerity dripping from his fangs once more.

And then the man nodded, laying down his horns and tusks in a bow as he stepped back, a proper, deferiential creature. “Ah, well, forgive me for intruding upon your evening. I hope you have a lovely rest of your night.”

Suddenly mute and without riposte, Felix could only nod in accord. The man nodded back once more before turning away, all the shadows seemingly swarming to him in that great swirl of his cloak, his darkness melding into Felix’s own for a brief, dashing moment- and then the light speared back in, their silhouettes separated by radiance. Felix found his eyes trailing the hulking beast as it strode away, and thought once more of monstrous legends.

In them, when the creature found something it desired but could not claim, it took it by force instead. Felix had never read one in which the horror bowed politely to its prey.

In a final swish of his cloak, the man became one with the revelry once more. And the room is colder, all of a sudden. Felix hadn’t noticed when it had grown comfortable.

Nor when his face had grown quite so warm.

 _Ugh,_ what nonsense. Well-learned the man might have been, but clearly a fool as well. Felix was no maiden. And a terrible choice in prey.

Still, Felix’s hand flitted back to face, not feeling precisely so clever himself. Lamenting the cold, and yet here he was, transparent as the ice he abhorred.

There was a mission at hand. He needed to focus.

Putting the odd man and their equally bewildering interaction out of his mind, Felix tipped his head back and downed the rest of his champagne in a single rushing swallow. Bubbles fresh on his lips and an inexplicable fluttering in his gut, he stepped away from his shelter and into the crowd, a huntsman becoming one with the forest.

Hunting is a delicate sport. It required both subtlety and power- but not too much of either, lest the balance be spoiled- education, and most of all, patience. The forest, while hostile, is not coy, and willingly surrenders its secrets to the worthy, to those capable of understanding them; the noble wilderness, while decidedly more fickle, was much the same.

The crowd was amorphous, a writhing, seething thing, many-faced and tumultuous. It shifts with the light, with the mood, with the champagne. Secrets and truths tucked away in coats and furs, behind the beaks of birds and the muzzles of beasts, they preen and play pretend in equal measure, reveal nothing and indulge in much. To seek their enigmas is harder than tracing trails or waiting for movement- but there are tells in the way they hide, and a solution applicable to all terrain and quarry: observing the undergrowth.

Though they are playing at anonymity, the event is high profile, and even a cursory appraisal reflects the illustrious invitees; nobles not only of Faerghus but also the empire and alliance, high-brow merchants of every ware, holy knights, a congregation’s worth of Seirosi priests. Felix spotted several familiar faces among the rabble, including Blue Lions from his year. An ivory fox, that ladykiller Gautier, who apparently was the prince’s childhood best friend; a sequined swan, Count Galatea’s prized daughter, the first to bear the Crest of Daphnel in generations; purple moons and silver stars, the Baron Dominic’s spirited little niece, who Felix remembered _quite_ well for her strange songs and penchant for setting things alfame.

He had prepared for this inevitability, of course, and though he hadn’t really encountered any issue with most of them before, he hadn’t struck up any friendships either, and Felix does well to avoid them. The off chance of one of them recognizing him would spell disaster; a Fraldarius hasn’t attended, much less been invited, to a Faerghan coronation in generations. This eve was not an outlier.

And in truth, Felix did not particularly want to talk with any of them, anyways. He had learned at the academy what sorts of people Faerghus produced, and delighted in their company no more there than he did here. Their desire for strength went well beyond steel- Crest obsessed, the lot of them.

This was what the undergrowth bore, the desire that lurked in them all, and it wasn’t an uncommon mindset, certainly no less so in the empire, popular among the insufferably old, wealthy, and entitled; however, Felix could almost count on being allowed to murder several of those fools within the year- if Edelgard’s own increasingly public opposition of such continued- but here he must grit his teeth and waste away from boredom hearing about some proposal this, some marriage that, and no shortage of gossip about the incident at Conand tower last Verdant Rain moon. More Crest nonsense, with the brothers Gautier at the core; while Felix hadn’t been there, he’d heard plenty from those that had experienced it firsthand, and though the church had done its damndest to suppress the details, high society loved a good slaughter. But of course the nobility was more scandalized by a disinherited Crestless wretch stealing away a relic than they were about the lives lost in repercussion.

Acting as though a particularly endowed ancestry miraculously made one a good ruler or soldier, an end all be all to all that mattered, Felix had never been particularly forgiving of this regard, even less so when it came to the nobility who propagated it. _He_ hadn’t become the best assassin in Adrestia by relying on _his Crest_ \- which only made him marginally better at stabbing things but did little to the effect of precision or stealth. That, Felix perfected by his own merit.

But that was far from the most dire aspect of this backwards culture. Faerghans and their _chivalry_ , everyone ready to fall on a sword for some damned body else. There were hardly three words one could get in edgewise before someone spoke of it; this thirst for meaning in death, it was plague, their sanctimonious self-sacrificing lexeme mere rot of their insides, pride and misery keeping pious necks bent skyward even as blood was coughed into clasped hands. Felix found Hubert’s own fanatical devotion nothing short of repulsive, but at least that man got a twisted sort of enjoyment out of his duty and wasn’t just seeking a cause to waste himself upon.

Over the course of the moons leading up to the coronation, Kingdom enlistment rates soared in nearly every region, numbers across Faerghus that had even Hubert’s eyebrow raised, the crown not even on Dimitri’s head and men and women were already preparing to fill graveyards for him. Perhaps that lent truth to some of the kinder reports, but then again, perhaps it was simply the curse of tradition- born reciting this poetic ride and die death wish as they were. Their loyalty ran deep here, their grudges deeper, and nothing ran thicker than the river of blood leading back to the crown.

This room too, ran fairly immobile by it. Filled to the brim, and everyone wanted their share, families sworn to protect it, political rivals hellbent on spilling it, young maidens intent on winning it- a yearling monarch on the cusp of his prime, adored and feared in seemingly equal measure, unwed, unattached, untried. His Blaiddyd blood to which they were all bound, it drenched the atmosphere, ran and pooled at their feet, as if Felix had already cut him open.

It mired his every step as he strode through the hall, sticking his boots to the floor as he engaged in the bloodbath. He had drifted upon the tides of revelry, stealing moments with many but never treading for long. The conversation hadn’t been very illuminating of much anything other than the depths of his annoyance with these people and the same six sentences pouring out of myriad mouths, but still he waded patiently through it all, immersed in the cruor of kings and all the willful hemorrhaging faithful.

For all his experience with the hunt, Felix wasn't particularly good at this. A better auditor than orator, despite of or perhaps developed from a lifetime at court, slipping into a conversation was more a matter of stealth than charisma, his participation largely regulated to laughing or sighing at the appropriate times until he gleaned something valuable or departed for more useful conference. At the very least here, it would seem most Faerghans by nature weren’t especially verbose either. Well into their cups, besides.

Perhaps that was the secret. Getting drunk enough for Faerghus to _make sense._

Felix considered this heavily as he made his way through the outer ring of partygoers, adrift once more as he considered his next move. Ingénues clustered in groups here at the fringes, eyes bright with stars and fingers wrapped tight around their pearls, neither bold nor savvy enough to venture deeper into the mire, older knights and generals hovering around tables, seeking respite from the youth that no longer considered them and patting each other on the back for deeds of decades past. The piano heartbeat of the room thrummed steady beneath it all, and though many swayed together in their spots, the dancing would begin in earnest soon. Another trial of propriety to undertake, but one that would yield reward, one way or another. Wherever he laired now, the crown prince would almost certainly be drug out to dance. Felix just had to be patient and remain vigilant.

Distantly, it occurred to him he hadn’t seen that strange man in some time. Not since they spoke earlier, which was preposterous considering that creature was roughly the size of an Albinean moose, and if he was still here, Felix should have seen him.

 _Perhaps… he has already left,_ he thought, somehow a bit disappointed. The crowd shifted, and Felix slipped between the backs of conversing lords, fingers grasped to the hilt of his sword. He gave them passing interest but overheard nothing of note, and so sailed by without a backward glance.

Well. Nevermind that. The beast too might make an appearance, come the dancing. Felix supposed he could recede to another corner in the interim, but idleness never suited him, especially when there was always more to be done. He had not secured a route of exit yet, nor precisely the stageing of the assasination, seeing as he’d expected his target to have shown himself by now; and while these sorts of _things_ required flexibility by nature, every distant chime in every quarter hour passed constricted Felix’s already narrow window of opportunity tighter around him.

As he considered this, Felix glanced around, taking surveyal of the ballroom once more, but found his attention redirected elsewhere upon colliding with a sturdy force.

He whipped his head around, a snarl poised to pounce, but stilled to see a black gauntleted hand upon him, long fingers a firm and careful cradle around his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

Felix’s eye went up from there on instinct.

“Oh, hello again.”

The horned horror bore down on him from above, grinning beastly gob no less grisly than before, seemingly as surprised to find Felix within his hands as Felix was to be there.

After a disjointing moment, “Boar,” Felix greeted him, for lack of anything else.

The boar nodded in acquisition, fingers tightening just the barest bit- or had Felix imagined that- before withdrawing his hand. “I did not expect to run into you again, though I am not displeased to have done so,” He lifted his chin and once more seemed to be smiling, a darting gleam beneath the lake stillness of his gaze. “I see you have departed your corner and taken to the festivities now as well.”

This close, the creature positively loomed over him, and Felix had to tilt his head up to properly address him. Though he’d released him, the daft beast had not retreated, the space between them considerably more intimate than before, a mere few hands widths apart, the aftermath of touch rather than the possibility of it. Felix could still feel it upon him, the drift of the man’s fingertips as they left his shoulder, a mite too quick for lingering, but far too slow to be casual.

Stiff speech, egregious costume, flitty yet formal mannerisms. _This man is a noble,_ Felix was suddenly quite certain. _And_ \- he suspected with a great degree of dread- _more than likely handsome._

“I am here. Might as well.” Felix said, propping a hand on his hip and giving the beast a scowl, though he refused to lift his chin. “And where have you been prowling around? I didn’t even know you were still here.”

The man perked up, blinking rapidly a disenchanting flurry. “Hmmm? Oh, I’ve been around.” And then he cocked his head again, playful and eager as a praised hound. “Were you looking for me?”

Felix shook his head, looking away with a flick of his hand, a prickle of heat racing up his neck. “No, you’re just so obtrusive. How in the world are you so capable of sneaking around in that abomination, anyways?”

The beast chuckled, a crashing wave rumble, the sort that grovelled upon rocky shores and stole things back into the sea.“That I cannot tell you. Though I shall take it as a compliment, nonetheless.” His mirth pulled back in, surf to the sea, and he shrugged, tone turning purposeful. “But, seeing as I’ve been granted another opportunity to speak with you, there was something I wanted to ask you about before,”

Gloved fingers emerged from the cavernous cape before Felix could blink, quick, stretching out to him. They dipped, the soft leather pulling under the gauntlet as he flipped that monstrous paw over and for a moment Felix’s heart leapt-

The hand stilled. Fingers splayed in a gesture aimed at... Felix’s hip. “But that sword. It is a Zoltan creation, is it not?”

“It is.” Felix affirmed after a moment, resting his sword hand atop the pommel to ground himself. They were in public, standing too close already, and what in the world was he thinking- nay, _expecting_? He huffed. “You have quite the eye for weapons.”

The beast nodded, eyes falling to the blade. “I am a great fan of his work. The craftsmanship is unparalleled, and the designs are always distinctive yet clean. I have never seen finer blades from any other. Truly, a master of his craft.” There was passion in his voice for which he spoke, such unbridled delight, that deep honey voice sweet as summer grapes and glacial eyes aglow, and it pleased Felix to hear it directed at him, albeit obliquely.

Slyly lifting the pommel up, he edged the sword slightly out of its black ornamental scabbard, just enough for the silver helixing the blade to catch the light. The man made an appreciative sound, and Felix positively preened.

The man’s fingers twisted into his pelts once more, gripping tight, and he sighed wistfully. “I actually had a Zoltan sword of my own when I was younger. However,”

He trailed off, eyes drifting to the floor. Felix watched him fidget, eyebrow cocked and expectant.

“... I accidentally snapped it in half one day while training.”

Felix’s jaw unhinged on its own, and then he could only stare at him in open, unabashed, adamant disbelief.

“Unbelievable. You are, absolutely, unbelievable.” He hissed, hand gripping protectively to his sword. “What sort of fool do you take me for?”

The man’s shoulders slumped, head bowed, soundly, so sincerely, ashamed. “It is the truth. I would show you the sword, but it's buried in the gardens. I was mortified that in my clumsiness I had ruined such a gift, so I hid it in the rose bushes.”

Felix shook his head. “Unbelievable. Ridiculous, you are utterly...” And somehow he found himself chuckling, shoulders shaking, the absurdity of it all crashing down in him once more. This creature, this _man_ \- Felix brought a hand to his mouth to cover the last traces of his outburst with a sigh. “A beast in truth, aren’t you. Goddess, what I wouldn’t give to fight you.”

“Fight… me?” He echoed, and then his eyes lit up. “Are you asking me to spar?”

“Not now, of course. I’m rather busy at the moment.” Felix snorted. Bringing that hand to tuck away a loose hair, he looked the man up and down, appraising once more his strong frame while avoiding his peering eyes. “But… hmph. If there’s any merit to your claims, I believe you would make for a worthwhile opponent.”

The beast seemed to puff up a bit, under the assessment. Pleased. “Ah, well, if you were to offer, I would not refuse. I do enjoy a good spar.” He chuckled. “Though it might be a bit embarrassing to admit, it is largely my only hobby. My free time is rather limited, and there are few things that make me feel quite as well as training does.”

And when he laughed again, it went straight for Felix’s stomach. _Oh._ He’s never had a taste for sweets, but there was something delectable about this man’s joy- sincere, down to even the self-defacement, the complexities and depths of such beyond what Felix could even name.

 _This is a man who is not truly happy very often,_ he thought, and knew it immediately to be true.

Fingers still curled beside his face, Felix used their shelter to risk meeting the beast’s gaze once more. The man tilted his head, eyes crinkling at the corners as he met Felix's, another sweet smile surely lurking there beyond the leagues of teeth.

Those eyes were the color of death in winter. Useless to him though. Felix required blue.

“Of that, we are in agreement.” Felix hummed. He dropped his hand, smile slipping with it. “Unfortunately, I’m not operating on much free time myself, currently. I’ll be taking leave first, this time.”

The man _ah_ ed, sounding a bit crestfallen, but quickly made to cover himself. “Apologies if I kept you,” The beast bowed once more, slighter this time, as they were still close- and it drew them closer still. He kept his eyes on Felix throughout the entire motion. “But I hope it's not too forward of me to confess it was lovely speaking with you further. I had privately hoped for another opportunity, and I am glad to be granted it. ”

Felix watched him as well, tipping his head back to follow as the beast rose, stately and haunting. “Forward, indeed.” He agreed. He gave the man a small smirk and turned. “Perhaps you’ll get the chance again.”

Felix was pleased to feel the man’s gaze pursuing him as he stalked away. Raking his body, heat racing up his spine and leaving goosebumps in the wake, he could just picture it- the hungered glare of a predator that had once again allowed for his prey to slip between his claws. The frustration was tantalizing, if not amusing as well. Felix _wasn’t_ prey. But perhaps under more amenable circumstances, he would have allowed himself to be caught.

A beast capable of shattering swords shouldn’t be gentle. What could those hands do to him?

The balcony doors creaked quietly as they opened, a somber, time-worn cry of the rarely parted, airless bright giving way to the dark majesty of the sky and the shrill cold of the wind.

Felix stepped outside, closing them behind him, and heaved a sigh.

The balcony was semicircular in shape, marble columns arranged in a crescent stretching upward to support the upper balcony sprouting from the mezzanine, reaching high like the aleppo pines that grew in the foothills around Enbarr. Moonlight diffused through the scattered cloud cover, diamond dust over the ice, banisters rimmed in snow and stones crisp with frost. The battered corpses of climbing ivy clung on with decrepit fingers to all that would hold them, rustling hollowly in the frigid exhalations of the surrounding mountains.

It was freezing. Far worse than inside. Felix’s breath came out in visible puffs, pale specters of heat effortlessly devoured by the ravening Faerghan chill.

But the cold, for once, was welcome. He felt like death warmed over.

Withdrawing from the door, Felix shuffled left over to the balustrade, ducking into the shadowed corner and slumping upon the railing. The marble under his hands was biting, and he clung tighter, feeling it through the soft lining of his gloves, grounding himself in the sting.

After leaving the man, another turn around the ballroom had left him feeling jittery and listless, impatient and unable to do a single thing about it. To make matters worse, his body had begun to ache dully, the week and a half’s hard ride catching up with him quicker than he’d expected; one more grain of sand in a rapidly emptying hourglass, and with his patience wearing thin as the air, Felix needed a moment. An unfortunate, ill-timed moment of weakness, but one he could not avoid.

He had to act soon, and he had to be in good form to do it. And if Felix was really going to have to drag his bones across the damn dance floor on top of it too, well. They were all in for a time.

Felix rolled his neck, massaging at the pointed junction of his shoulder, stiff and sore and very much unhappy about it. At least the regent seemed to be enjoying his evening about as much as Felix was.

Rufus Algernon Blaiddyd, King Regent and Grand Duke of Itha, unlike Felix, had no reservations about guzzling champagne and brooding under the mezzanine most of the night. Dressed fine and regal, with his favorite courtiers close at hand, but other than passing pleasantries, there wasn’t much to be spared for the intermediary monarch. The king regent’s demeanor had only soured as the gala had gone on, expression pinched and gaze restless with unease as it flitted about the crowd, champagne bottles vanishing between quiet white gloves as quickly as he opened them. None too pleased to be losing his crown, no doubt.

At least the cad would be crawling back to that fetid monster den Itha when this was over, free to pursue his deplorable games with considerably less political fallout than he did now. Felix wondered what Edelgard had planned for him, after this was all said and done.

Felix wondered what Edelgard had planned for any of them.

Mind wandering, his eyes meandered up on their own, the heavenly abyss yawning wide above him, dusted by clouds but still so dazzlingly full, unearthly close this high into the mountains. Stars gleamed in the darkness like pinpricks of teeth betrayed by shadow, like pearls tossed about a midnight satin bed.

Glenn had always been fascinated by those sorts of things- sciences, astronomy and the like; their mother, a voracious bibliophile on top of being an imperial historian, kept books of every kind around (including many banned by the church), and encouraged her sons to pursue knowledge on all that interested them. And so every year when their family made the annual move from their intercity estate to their cliffside manor at the beginning of summer- where they stayed through the end of autumn- Glenn would drag Felix down the bluffs to the white sand below, and after the sun went down, they’d stargaze for hours.

Though Felix’s interest in the celestial bodies wasn’t considerable, Glenn’s _was_ , and it was something special he and Glenn could do together every summer. A ritual they kept for longer than they probably should have, the habit only really falling off within the last year or so when Glenn started staying in Enbarr more by himself for work. They hadn’t been able to do it last summer either because Felix had been at the academy. Which Felix had _absolutely not_ cried about upon realizing. Certainly not in the middle of class.

He scrubbed his eyes with a gloved hand. A piece of snow must have gotten into them, they were watering.

Felix didn’t recall much of names, only placements and alignments that were handy for discernment and travel, but looking at the stars calmed him still, as easily as his brother’s smoke-rasp voice pointing each one out had as a child, memories perfumed by sea salt and the sweet ash of Glenn’s cigarillos and the fragrance of the bright pink oleander that bloomed between the rocks that he distilled his favorite poison from.

Standing there, Felix could practically hear him now. _If you’ve got time to reminisce, you’ve got time to get your shit together and figure out a plan._ Imaginary Glenn crossed his imaginary arms. _You’re off your game, tonight. Getting cold feet?_

He’d think himself so clever for that joke. Felix imagined punching imaginary Glenn very hard.

But then because the Glenn in his head knew Felix and knew everything, _Distracted by a boy, Fe, really? I could have had both him_ and _the prince puking their guts up by now, and been halfway to Mateus besides._

Felix huffed, though it was at nothing but air. Ruthless, that asshole. Even in his mind. Ruthless, but probably not wrong.

Glenn had been the one initially considered for this mission. Though he didn’t serve Edelgard personally, like Felix, his talents were well known and he was a natural in social settings, no more fond of them than Felix was but charismatic in that sharp-tongued way of his. However, though his skill with the sword and lance made him a formidable opponent, Glenn’s preferred method mortis was poison, and there were a great deal of risks related to such. Felix knew they had an in with the court, but even then, a cupbearer dropping dead would incite a panic that would be difficult to recover from, effectively squandering the rare opportunity with no chance of recourse, at least for some time. Glenn wasn’t so sloppy by any measure, but additional security would certainly be in place, limiting accessibility greatly. There were no guarantees on what the king-to-be would be wearing, doing, drinking either. There were no guarantees of anything with their limited knowledge.

And this was a job that could not afford that. It required knifepoint precision. It required Felix.

There was nothing more efficient in murder than a blade, and there was no one more dedicated to efficiency than Felix. A lifetime witness to his father’s work had made him well versed in mortality long before his Crest ever manifested and sent him down this path.

Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius was an esteemed imperial physician, serving the emperor’s personal court directly for over two decades, and had a finger on the pulse of the nobility in more ways than one. He learned a great many things by nature of serving in such close, intimate quarters- knowledge both catasphrophic and benign, much that could prove useful, especially to his sons who both worked as spies, one of which served the imperial princess herself. But as a man sworn to heal, to mitigate and limit undue harm, he seldom employed any secrets he learned. And as Lord Fraldarius, he protected his family first and foremost. Because sometimes the most hateful things learned were not secret in the least. And often enough, saving someone’s life could still not earn their trust.

Adrestians held their grudges close to heart, too.

In the weeks proceeding the new year, Felix’s old man had been uncharacteristically morose since it was decided Felix would be the one journeying to Faerghus. A fretful father he had always been, there was something new, something pained in this discomfiture, but though clearly distressed, he never tried to dissuade Felix from going.

He only made sure Felix packed ample supplies for the journey, tucked away a small medical kit within his luggage when he thought Felix wasn’t looking; bid him luck and safety on the day Felix left with a conflicted expression. A poor match to Felix’s mother, her witty lupine grin on full display as she assured him of her every confidence. Glenn hadn’t been able to be there, off tending to some official duty, but he’d been with him the night before, helping Felix pick out his knives.

Selecting the Brigidian toothed dagger he’d given Felix for his sixteenth birthday, he’d pressed it into Felix’s palm and held it there. “ _I fear nothing, little brother. I know you’re doing this for us, as much as for her.”_

Felix sniffled, rubbing his face again. Maybe he was allergic to snow. There was an awful lot of it in his eyes all of a sudden.

Thinking of the things he wanted to tell Glenn about when he got home, he very nearly missed the creak of the balcony doors opening behind him once more.

Light poured forth, a gleaming path cutting from the ballroom into the night, and a figure swept forward from within its brightness. They shut the door, and in a swish of their cape, turned and strode to the railing.

Even before the moonlight caressed his form, Felix knew the terrible shape of him by now.

The beast stalked to the far end of the terrace, head tilted down, shoulders rising and falling visibly from underneath his cloak. His posture was rigid, expectant, braced as if for a blow or for flight, and he practically quivered under the cold moonlight, mercurial clouds marbling uneven shadows upon his grim form.

Felix froze. Why was the beast here? Seeking refuge from the party too perhaps, but, he looked ready for a fight. Had he followed Felix out?

…Was he following him?

Alarm, swift, chilling, flared within him, every finely honed instinct straightening Felix up where he stood.

It was a celebration of the prince’s crowning, of course security would be on high alert. Guards patrolling the crowd in costume wasn’t out of the question. Felix hadn’t seen the prince’s Duscur bodyguard all night either.

But if that were the case, and he was onto him... it would have meant-

He narrowed his eyes, watching the boar’s form carefully, though the creature hadn’t moved. Only hovered, hulked at the apex of the balcony’s curve, gazing down at Fhirdiad below where it groveled with stoney limbs upon the mountains, as a beast lords over its domain. Gauntleted claws gleamed where they clutched at the railing, black seizing bone white, and it was all too easy imagining those brutish talons snapping tight around Felix’s body, prying him apart.

Far beyond the palace, the capital was celebrating tonight as well. Shapes shimmered and flickered congregating around a towering bonfire where it blazed brightly from within Loog’s Square, ferocious even from the cliffside. Though distant, the warmth and light yearned for the heavens, stretched to touch, caressing the curved tusks and sunken cheeks of the skull as he observed. He seemed to lean into it, long to be with it. What did Felix really know about this man? A noble, someone strong, someone diligent. Earnest, careful.

But was that the truth? Or just another mask? For the first time that night, Felix wondered truly what lurked beyond the mantle. Who hid within those grisly bones.

The man shifted, hands lifting to his face. He fussed with his mask, tugging at the sides, and Felix saw his fingers feel around, dig into the fur. The skull jostled and began to lift.

The boar was removing his mask.

Felix went cold. And when his body flared again, it was with heat.

The boar’s fingers were dexterous, long and lithe, and even clawed they wove into the fur and ties with care. It was a compelling sight, far too easy to imagine those fingers handling a sword, each elegant pull and swipe enticing him to watch, promising recompense. But Felix knew this was the moment of opportunity- if the beast was onto him, he needed to act fast before anyone else caught wind. He needed, he _needed_...

Felix steeled himself, and fingers slipping to his nearest knife, began to creep over. He measured each step, balancing his weight, wary of the cracking ice and snow. No reaction. Those fingers wound on. He shifted direction to come at him better from behind proper, hunter’s intuition. The larger the prey, the better their peripheral vision.

His dagger edged out of the sheath. The skull was shifting, bowing, horns harmlessly directed away, exposed like a deer arched to graze. Felix was close. He could hear the beast’s uneasy breathing, even over the thudding of Felix’s heart, the ill churning of his stomach. The barest slip of neck appeared, the pale curlings of some short hair at the back of his neck-

The beast turned his head just then, cold dark eye spearing into Felix.

Felix froze to place, heart scrambling in his chest as it smashed into his ribcage, threw itself over some precipice and plummeted into the dark.

The man jumped, a whole body lurch that Felix tensed to meet, ready to pull his dagger and plunge it into-

"Oh! Ah, it’s just you.” He breathed, half ragged and... relieved?

The man sighed, visibly relaxing. His shoulders slumped, and he leaned back heavily against the railing.

Felix paused, hand still wrapped around the handle of the dagger, disarmed by the reaction. Relief, why relief? Wasn’t he here to find Felix, didn’t he _know_?

As achingly laborious as the removal had been, the man readjusted his mask quickly, a beast in true once more moments later. “Forgive me, I did not mean… You did not see me taking off my mask, just now. Because that is not in good sport." He chuckled weakly, sounding flustered. He cleared his throat. "What brings you out here? Not... taking off your mask, as well?"

Felix took a deep breath, drawing closer. His blood roared in his ears, but the sound was dull, as if coming from the bottom of the ocean. “Getting some fresh air. It’s stale in there.”

The man nodded. “The cold does wonders for that, indeed.”

Silence fell. The man was watching Felix as he approached, cold eyes invisible from within the skull’s deep eye sockets, a fathomless, almost liquid darkness pooling in them, unsettling in that Felix could be observed without any indication what precisely was being scrutinized- though nothing in his posture spoke of immediate danger.

Felix came to rest his hand along the balustrade a short ways away, and the man shifted so that he faced him fully. Directed this way, firelight once again wicked at the skeletal hollows of his mask, evaporating the seeping darkness that had filled them in its absence, and it was almost relieving to be able to see him in true again. Felix’s grip on the knife hadn’t faltered, and only loosened now that he’d gotten a closer look at the beast. No longer tense, the look in his gray eyes was tired, pinched, and his mask was slightly askew, fur ruffled from his quick transformation. The longer he looked, the tighter the feeling bound up in Felix’s chest, soured in his gut.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hmm?”

The words had sprung from him before Felix realized it, and he stuttered, fumbled. By the goddess, he’d been ready to stab this man and throw his body over the balcony mere moments ago. “I mean, I…” He cleared his throat. “You seem really tense. Did something happen?”

The beast cocked his head, eyes going soft in the shadow of his mantle. “No, nothing has happened.” He sighed, hands gripping tight to the railing. “I simply tire of this all. It’s as I said before, I find little joy in these events.”

Felix watched him clench and release, a fluttering in his chest. The wind had chapped his lips and he had to wet them with his tongue to get them to work again. “Me neither. I’ve been to dozens of these things over the years, and it's the same every time.” He grimaced. “It all has a purpose, I know, but I still hate everything about it.”

The man hummed, looking at Felix curiously. "Pray tell then, what brings you here, if you truly do not enjoy these sorts of events?"

The story Felix made for himself welled up in his throat, ready over his tongue. Here in the capital to see an opera- which opera, _The Lion of Gwenhwyvar, three days from now_ \- a guest of Lord Rowe- _I know his son, Branwell,_ house Rowe had already shown interest in throwing in their lot with Edelgard, they’d been stirring up trouble since the failed civil war three years ago; it all sat there, for Felix to seize. Wield as a weapon. He prepared for this.

"I'm here to meet someone." He said instead.

That had the beast perking up. "Oh? An old friend? Or a suitor, perhaps?" His eyes suddenly shifted to Felix’s hands, one of which still rested against the encased dagger at his hip, and Felix felt his face instantly threaten to incinerate.

"Something like that." Felix grumbled, and then shook his head. Withdrew the hand he had upon his dagger and moved it to his hip instead, looking out at the mountains beyond the balcony. "I haven't had much luck finding them, however. They don't know I'm here. It's... meant to be a surprise."

"Ah, that is unfortunate. Is it due to the masks, you think?"

"Well, at this point, they're certainly not helping."

"Perhaps I could do something about that."

Felix’s eyebrows shot up, and he turned back to face the man.

"What do you mean?"

The man released the railing and turned to face him as well. “I might be able to get everyone to lift their masks for you, even if only for a moment. Would that suffice, you think?”

Felix’s eyes narrowed, mouth twisting incredulously. "Hmph. How chivalrous of you."

"I try." He said solemnly, sincere as anything, and Felix felt a twinge of something sick within himself. Then the boar lifted his chin. "However, I am not doing this entirely for your benefit."

"Oh?" Felix cocked an eyebrow. Despite it all, his unruly heart still thudded.

Gauntleted fingers unfurled as the attached wrist flicked, gesturing to Felix. "For my assistance in helping find your person,” The beast’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “I'd ask that you have a dance with me. Provided it did not discomfort or offend the found party, of course.”

Felix scoffed, and crossed his arms. "How presumptuous. Really so confident in yourself, are we?"

The beast leaned down, a terribly amused look in his half-lidded eyes, and crooned, sweet and weighty. "Would you like to make it a competition?"

Almost immediately, he pulled back, rising to his full height and forcing Felix to chase him. And foolishly, impulsively, Felix does. He tipped his head back to follow the beast, found himself drawn between the sickles of his firelight-hued tusks. They weren’t touching, but the invitation was clear- fangs to his throat, a full, killing moon at the boar’s back.

At the edge of a gnarled wood, the beast was attempting to entice the prey into its lair. The darkness was making him bold, though he still would not take what he wanted, that which would not place itself within his grasp willingly. Felix didn’t doubt for a moment how quick those jaws would close.

He met him daringly, lips twisted up in a smirk. "Alright, fine. I’ll be busy, but _if_ you can find me after it all, I'll dance with you." Felix had no intention of being found, as the moment he identified the prince he would be dealing with that, but what was the harm in prolonging the hunt? The beast was nothing if not persistent. And if he still thought Felix to be prey, then, it would be all too gratifying proving how well he could outrun him.

The beast made a delighted noise. "Thank you." He replied, having the audacity to sound excited. The fool. The _puppy_. He smoothed down his finery. "Well then, it seems there's something I need to do. It shouldn't be too long now, so be sure to pay attention."

He turned and strode back to the balcony doors, considerably lighter in step than before, pausing to shyly glance back over his shoulder at Felix. "Please remember your promise."

Felix waved him off. "Of course, boar."

The boar nodded and pulled upon the doors, wincing slightly at the squeak and sending a sheepish over to him before stepping inside. A moment later they reunited in muted matrimony, and the night was sealed once more.

Felix slumped back upon the railing, huffing out a weary sigh. Over-eager beast. It was almost a shame to leave him wanting. _He_ left Felix’s stomach knotted tight in a painful, sick ball, but somehow his chest feeling light, a confusing, disorientating combination, and yet. And yet...

The smile Felix had flashed him had not been false, and even masked, there was nothing to hide how much he was enjoying this. The banter, the attention, he’d gotten a taste, and now it wouldn’t leave him. But this indulgence was dangerous. He couldn’t lose the chase. Everything depended on it.

Edelgard depended on it.

Felix’s family depended on it.

Glenn may have been the first considered for the task, but it was Felix who volunteered for it _._ It was Felix who needed to do this. Glenn would one day be Lord Fraldarius, the first Crestless to lead their family in generations, and soon to be the first of a new order in Edelgard’s court. He would help shape the future by her side, not foisted to the fringes of court like their father, only regarded for his usefulness, but respected by his peers for his wit and intelligence. Listened to and _heard_ when he spoke.

And if he was to have that, the Fraldariuses would have to prove their loyalty, one last, definitive time.

Standing there in cold and starlight, surrounded by mountains and snow and basking in the proud flames of the bonfire roaring for a Blaiddyd, it was so easy to think about his ancestors; to think about Faerghus, the land and the life his family left behind when they betrayed Loog and all he stood for. The reason Felix would gladly bloody his hands in the line they had once been sworn to protect.

Over four-hundred years ago, the War of the Eagle and Lion- houses Blaiddyd and Fraldarius cast their fates against the empire, and cleaved four bloody years of war from the continent. Though Blaiddyd and its backing houses ultimately earned their independence, Kyphon Corbett Fraldarius perished in 750 for the cause, getting his head piked and his relic seized by the empire for his trouble. Beaten and disgraced, Esmerelda Rene Fraldarius, the younger sister, became head of the Fraldarius family after his death. And faced with the uncertainties of war and the fate of her family’s relic, she, an echo of her brother, would make another decision that would alter house Fraldarius’ role in history forever.

Esmerelda struck a deal with the enemy, turned her back on the oath her brother had sworn to their king, and capitulated to the empire. Took what remained of her family, her people, both decimated from the war, and fled west. For her loyalty, house Fraldarius regained its Aegis shield and was exempt from further participation in the war, allowed to rebuild in Enbarr under the close eye of the emperor.

Indebted to the empire and far from their ancestral home, though house Fraldarius would repair itself it would effectively become a possession of the crown, never given land holdings outside the capital. The relationship with the Blaiddyds died with Kyphon, and in time, Fraldarius would join house Vestra in vassalage, Fraldarius knights and assassins working alongside Vestra spies in service to the empire, forever branded traitor by the Faerghan lords.

Felix didn’t really have any strong feelings about any of that, though. Ancient history had no bearing on his life, and he cared not for the broken bonds of men that spelled the senseless doom of others, anyway. His ancestor had effectively protected her people from needless bloodshed, though it had all been for the sake of the relic, and that alone Felix found reproach with.

Felix hadn’t become an assassin because he loved the bloodshed, or because he had a talent for it, or a Crest made for it, and certainly not for any excuse such as _tradition_. Felix was an assassin, was the best assassin, because he favored efficiency and loathed needlessness. Edelgard held her cards close to her chest, but she had a vision and a goal, and it would wring a great amount of blood and tears along the way to realize, but the world she sought to build with her rule was one Felix could live with- and he would do his part to realize it, and he would do it well.

A world as it was now, where crested children were placed upon pedestals and paraded about like cattle at a fair, marriage proposals drawn up alongside birth certificates, relics leveraged against and threatened with, was destined for collapse.

A fate Felix had only avoided because the truth of his Crest remained hidden.

According to any official document, Felix Hugo Fraldarius had tested inconclusive for a Crest; save for his Academy paperwork, though Edelgard’s influence allowed for that to remain confidential, Felix’s Major Crest of Fraldarius remained a family secret, and with luck would be one until his dying day. Felix would never be able to live the life he did if every power hungry house in Fódlan was vying for his favor in the hopes of adding the Fraldarius Crest to their mantle, could never serve Edelgard properly if he was condemned to an existence defined by marriage and heirs.

And therein was Felix’s relationship with the Aegis shield, and the history of it. A shield Felix, even as its sole inheritor, cared little for. There was nothing that would be accomplished by protecting the old ways. He was a blade, and he could defend just as well with such. He would no sooner announce his Crested status and accept the title of heir than he would throw everything he had worked towards- _sworn_ himself to- away for a chunk of bone and metal, much as that distressed his father.

To forsake everything that had been promised, everything that had been built, for _that_.

...The things people did for power.

He took a deep breath, letting the cold black night seep into his lungs, his mind. Let it turn him tundra, freeze and smother his doubt.

And then Felix tilted his head back again, eyes passing over Fhirdiad, rising to meet the stars.

Felix took his first life when he was fourteen. A captain abusing his power, using his authority to bully and harass his subordinates as he pleased, pulling rank to prevent them from promoting or changing stations. His second in command was suffering the worst of it. And despite the rumors surrounding him, the captain favored and was a favorite of the emperor; Ionious would not remove him at the risk of losing what little influence within the military he had.

Edelgard, fourteen as well, hair now a mystifying white after all those years away- something Felix still and would never quite get used to after knowing her all his life with flaxen locks- would beseech him to kill the man.

And though his hands shook around the knife, and he vomited for two nights afterwards, Felix did.

The emperor mourned the loss of a supporter, but lost nothing in true he hadn’t already. A new captain was procured, someone outside the whole mess, a graduate from Garreg Mach from a distinguished military family. And the man’s second in command, a young woman Felix later learned was named Ladislava, would be promoted to Edelgard’s personal guard, and within a few years, its captain.

He thinks he did it for Edelgard- not entirely, but enough that it mattered. He also thinks she was testing him.

She could have just as easily sicced Hubert on the man, he would have done anything for her, and the other children had whispered for years how he’d already killed for her, not one shred of doubt he would again. She could have done any number of things, hardened her heart, ignored the issue- never cared in the first place, more pointedly. But she didn’t.

To this day, Felix didn’t know when Edelgard became aware of his Crest. They were the same age, his father served her father’s court, they’d known each other all their lives- but they weren’t _close_. The imperial princess didn’t have many friends, and after the sudden deaths of all her siblings, she didn’t have much of anyone.

Perhaps that was why she approached him that day at the imperial palace’s training grounds. Felix had been going through his basic forms, swinging his sword in sharp, sullen frustration because Glenn was going on a trip and Felix wasn’t old enough to be allowed to accompany him- seven years difference in age was a lot more than people thought it was- and while he was distracted, Edelgard had slipped into the room, watching him from a distance. They’d spared before- before she left- but since coming back she’d been ill almost constantly, her skin a sickly, distressing pale to match her hair. He hadn’t seen her train, or even touch a weapon in all that time.

That day too she’d made no move to pick up a sword, nor an axe, only spectating from the stairs leading down into the coliseum, legs and arms folded in primly like a porcelain thing rather than a girl that had been hefting blades that’d made grown men balk since she was small.

After a while, she called out to him, and he came. They talked a little bit- about her day, Felix’s training, Glenn’s trip, which Felix relayed the details of with huffs and barely withheld tears- and then she said that which would capsize life as Felix had known it for fourteen years.

_“Your major Crest. Is it what makes you so strong?”_

When Felix had froze over in horror, Edelgard only smiled- it was a small thing, and there wasn’t a hint of malice in it. It was hardly even teasing. It was, and remained to this day, the most honest expression he had ever seen her make.

The question that accompanied it hadn’t been honest, he would realize months later. It had been an inquisition.

But Felix’s answer had been, “ _No. It’s not.”_ And before they parted for lunch that afternoon, Edelgard told him of the captain abusing his soldiers, and said with her limits, she was unable to do anything about it. Asked Felix if he would. Even if he got caught.

Felix said he wouldn’t get caught. And he didn’t.

And then he became Edelgard’s.

She didn’t trust him, but she didn’t trust anyone. She never told him more than he needed to know, but she protected him and he served her, helped Felix to find his purpose.

She could have used her knowledge of his Crest to collar Felix, could have bound him in loyalty with chains and fear and could have ruined his life at the slightest provocation or sign of insurgence. But Edelgard didn’t want loyalty for loyalty’s sake- she wanted people loyal to _her._

These were dangerous situations for any of them. She could ruin his life, but Felix’s knowledge of Edelgard’s deeds could do worse- he could ruin her reign before it’d even begun. The Adrestian court was not beholden to its emperor, and it would not miraculously cow when Edelgard ascended the throne. She’d had soldiers, judges, servants, countless displaced and murdered from the shadows, hindered and tampered with these vile men’s power grabbing for years, and if they only bowed to her puppet of a father because appearances demanded they did, it stood to reason they’d attempt to bind and use Edelgard the same- if not worse, if the truth of her actions came to light.

Felix understood this well. All the things his own father knew, all the things he’d done over the years to protect his family from the court they all served. The people who called them Blue Bloods, still accused them of their allegiance all these years later, even after Rodrigue had healed their children and alleviated their ailing parents’ pain and worked on the homefront of the Dagda and Brigid War. If they had flipped loyalties so easily before, they could do it again. They would do it again.

Because they had no Crested heir, they needed power; how strange was it, they still followed Faerghan naming customs for their children; they couldn’t be trusted, that was why they were never allowed their own lands; they were soldiers, killers, because they came from Faerghus, it was _tradition_.

Felix was loyal to his family, but not to tradition. He had no love for a system that would always put them in danger, much as he had no love for a country that glorified sacrifice and called it sustenance.

He was no confidant to Edelgard, but he could be a blade. He didn’t know her plans, but he believed in her vision, and would play his part in seeing it fulfilled. He would sacrifice his own secrets a hundred times over before revealing hers.

Because that much was true- he was not loyal to Adrestia. He was loyal to her.

When Felix returned inside, the ballroom was just as abustle and aglow as he’d left it, though there was a new freneticism that sizzled in the air, thick and potent as ozone after a lightning strike.

The swing had abated, musicians silenced and leaning upon their instruments, peering down in hush spectation to where the guests were gathering, steadily clumping together before the stairs to the mezzanine like blood clotting a wound. In the absence of melody, the hum of conversation had pitched, serrated as its fever cut through the air, hands and fur and masks doing little to blunt the rising excitement of the clamor.

Felix heard the whispers as he traversed the congregation.

 _A speech, he wants to make a speech,_ a raven cawed.

Steel roses wrapped around cheeks, leaves parting for rouge painted lips, _He has called for a speech. He wants to make a toast,_ their tulip companion adds.

Black lace eyes, black lace hands waving a fan, _The prince will make a speech, the prince will make a toast._

He felt himself still, and grow calm.

At long last. _It was about damn time._

He came to stand among the edges of the gathering, slipping seamlessly into the crowd. It was hard to discern individual conversation within the vociferous mire, and it left Felix adrift, swaying with the tide in expectation as useless alongside the rest of them.

Suddenly remembering, he peered around, looking for any sign of the beast but glimpsed nothing, not his huge form nor his jutting horns. Immediately, Felix grew suspicious.

If the prince was about to give a speech… Felix could not help rolling his eyes. What did that blasted man think he was going to do? Come swinging in on a chandelier? Crash the crown prince’s toast?

 _Fool._ The beast was a fool. Perhaps Felix had been foolish too in encouraging him.

A hush went over the crowd as the swift click of boots upon marble swept around them, a tall form striding around the bend of the mezzanine. They came to stand upon the landing at the summit of the staircase, blotting out the immediate candlelight like an eclipse, dark and solitary in lording over them all. Their horns, an aphotic halo in crystal.

It was the man.

Felix’s calm shattered like glass.

“Good evening, everyone. I hope your nights have been pleasant.” The man spoke, projecting that soft voice across the whole of the room. More spectators pushed into the throng and pressed in behind Felix, and he was helpless to stop it, shoved heedlessly deeper than he’d wanted or ever meant to go.

The man offered a hand to the room, a present, an invitation, just as he had to Felix over and over again- and continued to his gathering audience. “I endeavour not to keep you from them for too long, but seeing as you have all gathered here in my honor, it would be remiss not to thank you all for your attendance, as well as all the warm words and advice I have been given, this the eve of my coronation.”

A servant appeared beside him to offer him a flute, and he took it with murmured thanks before turning back to the crowd.

“I propose a drink, to- oh, this,” He placed a hand upon his snout. “It gets in the way, you see.” Lightly, he tapped the edge of his champagne flute to a tusk, and a laugh resounded from the crowd. Raising his free hand, he gestured to them all. “If we may, would you do me the honor of removing your masks as well? So that we may all toast together, men and women of Faerghus, and our allies beyond, as equals and friends!”

 _Huzzah!_ A singular voice resounded, brought forth by the combination of spectating throats. A rising wave of rustling cloth surged around Felix, rippling as attendees removed their masks with cheer, diamonds and lace, flowers and anonymity given up so quickly, faces lifting to the light and exalting it. Felix scrambled to comply, all but tearing the damn thing from his face, eyes frozen on the spectacle upon the mezzanine.

_No. It wasn’t possible, how could he have-_

The beast too, went to undo his mask once more. Unseen ties were pulled, and the skull lifted from its nest, far less gentle than before. The scimitar shape of those horns swung like a blade, shadow cutting over the man’s face, over the crowd, a guillotine for Felix’s doubt. Spine and skull separated, and the mask was pulled away, a proud golden head raised high without its wicked weight.

Like something from a fairytale, the beast became a prince, and Dimitri revealed his true face. Strong of jaw, long broad nose, golden hair in a layered blunt cut and sparkling ice-azure eyes. Every inch a Blaiddyd, dreadful and handsome and stunning.

Sunken in that horror, those eyes were blue all along.

He tucked the beastly mask under his arm, and lifted his champagne to the world, every light in the room rushing to claim him, dripping off his glass, gleaming in his eyes, his gold. “To all my friends, my family. My advisors, generals, guests, and peers,” Dimitri took a breath. “To Faerghus!”

_To Faerghus!_

“Long live the king!” A cheer goes up.

_Long live the king!_

The king-to-be toasted his champagne, and all below him followed suit. But as they threw back their drinks in blissful synchronicity, Dimitri alone did not, lips drawn in a thin smile, surveying the crowd.

His gaze descended and fell to Felix, like he’d known all along he was there. And then Dimitri smiled, real and true, all teeth- all fangs.

 _Long live the king!_ The raucous roar continued, rebounding in every cold accursed corner, felt and heard again, and again, and again. A heartbeat, an hourglass, a song. _Long live the king!_

_Long live the king!_


End file.
